The Dream Girl
by BoredScientist
Summary: About a year after getting hit in the head with a baseball bat Lamb gets a clean bill of health. He goes to celebrate alone, because not a single person talks to him anymore. Strong Language, a wee bit of smut. Dark.


**A/N: I should have been working on my other fic, but I had to go to a funeral today, and the other fic is just too happy. This was the mood I was in. It's kind of dark and I'm pretty sure at points it sounds lamely noir. It's Very Lamb Centric. That being said, I'm still pretty pleased with how it came out. It's not usually the tone I write in but it's one of the better things I've written in awhile, I think. I'm also feeling better, lol, so it served that purpose. Enjoy!  
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Lamb rolled over and reached across the other side of his bed, trying to pull the body that should have been there closer to him. When his arm hit nothing but sheet and mattress he groggily opened his eyes.

-

Had it all been a dream? His eyes traced a line up the empty side of the bed to the boxers randomly thrown on the lamp on his night stand and the single strand on blonde hair that was still stuck on his pillowcase. No, it hadn't been a dream. Awesome. He'd finally had his fucking dream girl and she ran the fuck off as soon as he'd passed out. Spectacular. Just great, seriously.

-

It's not like he could blame her, this wasn't exactly a romance. And he'd been kind of useless as a person ever since the bat to the head. Months spent in physical therapy before he could so much as tie his fucking shoelaces. He had a cushy lifetime disability package from the force, it was the least they could do, really, after he nearly died on duty. They told him that he did die, actually, for about 35 seconds.

-

He ran a tired hand down his face.

-

Awesome, seriously.

-

The doctor had just given him the okay yesterday, the first clean bill of health he'd had in over a year. His first order of business had been to go the bar and drink himself stupid. He figured maybe now that he could finally talk without a god damn slur he might be able to get some quality ass. He had almost felt back to his old self as he walked into his usual place and ordered four fingers of bourbon, no ice.

-

The bar was dank, dark, and it smelled like stale beer. But it was close to his apartment and the owner's brother used to be his Deputy, so Lamb never paid for drinks. No one ever mentioned it; they had just stopped accepting his money. He tipped generously but never argued. They also sold popcorn, he loved popcorn. But mostly it was quiet; no PCHers, no 09er wives looking for a good time, just regulars, a straggler or two off the street, hell, even the occasional Neptune hooker...

-

When he had first been let out of the hospital Lamb had gone straight to the bar at the Neptune Grand. His hands had shaken so badly when he tried to order a drink that he'd gotten nothing but piteous looks from the rich wives that lurked there. Someone almost looked willing to offer him a pity fuck. Screw that, he was still Don Lamb, he didn't need anyone's pity. He left after five minutes and hadn't gone back. That had been months ago. He had found this place, he liked it here. No one bothered him, no one mentioned the accident… they left him alone. He just drank and listened to the scratchy sound of a juke box that never played the song you paid for.

-

This particular night he had been perched on his usual barstool, silently celebrating. It wasn't until he got up to use the can that he noticed her sitting in a dark booth in the back corner of the bar, sulking into a rum and coke that looked like it was about 85% rum. As he took a piss he briefly thought about ignoring her, just leaving her in her misery. But the Veronica Mars he knew would never come to a shithole like this unless it was on a case, and judging by the 2 empty glasses in front of her, she wasn't here in a professional capacity. Besides, she had never come to see him in the fucking hospital and he was still too pissed about that to let her off easy. Didn't she care at all? They used to be close. Ha, fuck no. She didn't care. No one cared.

-

He looked at himself in the mirror. His hair had grown back over the past year; finally, you could no longer see the part of his head that was permanently pushed in thanks to a carefully aimed baseball bat... Why would anyone care? He was a dick, plain and simple. He found out that you think about shit like that a lot when you're stuck in the hospital and the only people that come to visit are one deputy, your receptionist, and your union rep. Well that's not true, Keith Mars came once, apparently Keith thought Lamb deserved to hear, in person, that he'd been replaced as Sheriff. Yeah, spec-fucking-tacular, thanks Keith. Even Sacks had stopped visiting after awhile… and he had been Lamb's closest thing to a friend. Inga had tried to give him a dog, "to help in his recovery." He told her to fuck off. He regretted that.

-

He regretted a lot of things.

-

"Veronica Mars" he said as he sat down across from her and motioned to the bartender for two more drinks. "What brings you to the bad side of the bad side of town?"

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"I assumed I wouldn't run into anyone I knew," she downed the rest of her glass in one gulp and pushed the empty away, "guess this proves my luck."

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The bartender arrived and Lamb took a sip of his fourth drink of the night. "What gives, Mars? I take it you're not here to see me?"

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"I'm not here to see anyone," she stopped and looked up at him at that point, "You look like you're recovering well."

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Lamb smiled uncomfortably, "Yeah, clean bill of health today… Just in time to do nothing with the rest of my life."

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"You were a lousy Sheriff anyway." The banter sounded the same as before but it felt forced to both of them.

-

Lamb asked her again why she was there. Not because he was concerned, because he was fucking curious, okay. In some ways this chick was straight as a fucking arrow, why would she pick now to lead the lonely drunk lifestyle. "Pace yourself with those, I hear alcoholism is genetic." If no one cared about him anyway he was going to be a prick, at least he was good at it.

-

"Fuck off, Lamb." Still, she made no move to leave the booth. She just sat there looking at her drink, taking occasional sips. They sat there in silence for a long time… for three more rounds actually… taking bathroom breaks as necessary and listening to the scratchy sound of the juke box that never played the song you paid for. At around two the bartender came over, "Closing time." Lamb handed him a fifty and waved off the change before Veronica could even manage to get her wallet out of her bag.

-

"It's set, come on." It was the first thing he'd said to her in hours… it was the first non-sarcastic thing he'd said to her in years. He watched her shuffle out the door in front of him. "You're not driving" he told her as he pulled out a cigarette. It turns out you can pick up a lot of bad habits when you stop caring about your body. Hell, last year at this time they'd told him he'd probably never get full use of him limbs back… He took up smoking figuring he wouldn't mind shaving some years off his miserable fuck up of a life.

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"Can I have one of those?"

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"You smoke now too?"

-

Veronica didn't answer she just shrugged her shoulders and looked dejected as he put away the box without offering her one. She was drunk, he decided. And not the good, happy drunk that college girls usually were, she was drunk because she was trying to run away from something. "What the fuck is up with you Mars?"

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"What? You sat down at my table."

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"That's not what I meant, this isn't you." He motioned over to the bar to prove his point and wondered idly when the fuck Neptune had gotten so god damned cold.

-  
"You haven't known who I am since I was fifteen Lamb, it's time to stop pretending," she shot back and him and started walking stumbling down the block towards her car. Well, fuck. He regretted that too. He was regretting a lot of things tonight. He caught up to her in a few quick steps.

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"You're not driving."

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"I'll sleep in my car."

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"It's cold."

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"And?"

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"You can sleep on my couch." What the hell was he offering? _Just let her go her own fucking way, Lamb, you've been fine without her in your life for the last few years, why do you suddenly want her now?_ He wanted her because she didn't want him. He wanted her for the same reason he was a total ass to her, because she had adored him and then hated him and he had done the same to her.

-  
"Fine." She didn't even argue with him, she just walked beside him as he headed the few blocks towards his apartment.

-  
"I'm drunk," she said.

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"Congratulations."

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"Are you drunk?"

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He shrugged his shoulders at her. He couldn't decide if it didn't matter or if he just didn't know.

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"I've never been drunk before," she told him.

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"Oh yeah, how's it working out for you?"

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"It's not doing its job." What in the holy hell was she talking about?

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"And what exactly was it supposed to do?"

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"It was supposed to help me forget."

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He didn't know how the hell to respond to that so he didn't say anything at all. He just walked next to her in silence. He really wished she would hurry the fuck up though, it was damn cold.

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"It was supposed to help me forget ALL OF IT. You know, I dated the nice guy for two god damned years. I mean, I knew it wasn't going to work out anyway, but the _nice guy_ that had to count for something right? Aren't nice guys supposed to be nice? No, Piz was just like the rest of everyone. You're all ridiculous."

-  
Really? A fucking boyfriend drove Veronica Mars to drink. Lamb shrugged off the overwhelming urge to pummel this kid and kept listening instead.

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"Besides, _I_ was supposed to be the one to end it. That's how it's supposed to work out. You're supposed to date the nice guy until you get bored and then you're supposed to break up with him for no reason. But no! What happens? I go to surprise him and he's in bed with someone else. THIS IS THE **NICE** GUY. All of them, every single one…it's just… If the guy I was too good for is going to leave me then I'm going to end up alone. It's time to resign myself to it. Veronica Mars, solo act. Veronica Mars, reservation for one. Veronica Mars, no, it's just me, thanks."

-

Lamb had always firmly believed that the drunk rant was one of the most honest forms of communication.

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"It's not even Piz that got to me, we would have broken up anyway. It's just, I don't _want_ to be alone anymore." She looked at him with a look that would have broke his fucking heart if he hadn't been looking ahead. "I deserve better than that. Everyone just keeps breaking my heart. Lily died. My mom left. Duncan with Meg, Logan with fucking Madison Sinclare, and now Piz..." She paused. "_You_ were the worst after Lily… way worse than mom…"

-  
Lamb interrupted her rant, "Me? What the fuck are you talking about, Veronica?"

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"I was in love with you! I came to you for help. I had just been fucking raped, Lamb! And you just turned me away. You laughed at me! YOU BROKE MY FUCKING HEART." She was shouting now. Fuck it if he didn't regret all of that too.

-  
"Mars…" he was going to continue but the shouting seemed to have gotten the best of her. She puked into the trashcan in front of his apartment building for the next five minutes. Fucking spectacular. Right, this is exactly how he'd envisioned his night going. "All right, Veronica, let's get you inside." Lamb picked her up from off the sidewalk and carried her up the stairs and into his apartment, wishing the exercise hadn't made him winded. Fine, apparently it was time to give up smoking.

-

He sat her at his kitchen table with a glass of water in front of her. The puking seemed to have made her feel better, she needed the alcohol out of her system… _she needed a lot out of her system_, Lamb thought as he grabbed a t-shirt, boxers, and a spare tooth brush for her.

-

When she got back from the bathroom a few minutes later Lamb wondered how the hell he had ended up in this position. He and Veronica hadn't seen each other in a year, why tonight? Shit. She came out of the bathroom wearing just the t-shirt. "The boxers were too big, thanks though. Blankets?"

-

If he didn't know any better he'd think she was sober. He did know better though. And he was still a little buzzed himself. He walked over to her. "Look, Veronica…"

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"Save it, Lamb, it doesn't matter."

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"You deserve better."

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She scoffed, "Yeah, Right."

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He shook his head, "You do." After a long, awkward minute of silence Lamb added. "He was an idiot."

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"Which one?"

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"All of them."

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She smiled a tight-lipped, insincere smile. "You're included in that list."

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He couldn't do anything but agree with her. "You deserved better."

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"You already said that."

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Lamb took a step closer and she didn't step backwards. "So you wanted me, huh?" _Smooth, Don._

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She shrugged her shoulders at him. He found it fucking infuriating because he wanted a real answer. "I was fifteen, it happens."

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"And after that?"

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"Turns out falling out of love is really easy when you're fifteen."

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"Nothing is easy with you." She let out a fraction of a dry chuckle. Somehow, though he sure as shit didn't remember moving, Lamb had ended up with his hands on her hips as he said "and now? What do you want, Veronica?"

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She harshly answered "Nothing you can give me" as she walked back into the kitchen.

-

Fuck it, what the hell did he have to lose anyway? His pride? It wasn't like he had much of that left anyway. He growled "Try Me" seconds before pushing her into the refrigerator and claiming her mouth for his own the way he'd wanted to do since she _was_ fifteen and in love with him. He was about ready to pull away when she wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him closer. Fuck if he was going to pass this opportunity up, especially when she jumped up, wrapped her legs around his waist, and he realized that she wasn't wearing underwear under the t-shirt. For Lamb, the trek to the bedroom was fevered, they bumped into walls, knocked down pictures, and he tried to take off his pants all with Veronica still wrapped around his waist.

-

She was naked before he even laid her on the bed. Hell, this probably wasn't happening anyway, it wouldn't be the first time he'd dreamed about nailing Veronica Mars. Whatever, if this _was_ a dream he was sure as shit going to make the most of it.

-

As soon as his pants were off his ankles he pushed into her in one fluid motion. Tonight wasn't the night for foreplay. Hell, the last 5 years had been enough foreplay for him and he was tired of it. He fucked her with short hard thrusts, pinning her arms above her head until she pulled them free and started clawing her way up his back. If this weren't a dream, she probably would have drawn blood. Lamb fucked her rough, and it was the exact opposite of the way his dreams usually went.

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He used to dream of her coming to him on her own. She'd show up out of nowhere at his door; he'd worship her body for hours and tell her he loved her and that he was sorry for everything. Then he'd wake up alone and hard. Not now, apparently his mind had caught up with the fact that this was the only way he would ever get Veronica Mars: Emotionless, Drunk, and Desperate.

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He grabbed onto her hips so tightly that it would have bruised her had she actually been there. Though when she arched her back and screamed out his name as she came he knew this was better than any dream he'd ever had. He bit down on her nipple and swore he could taste her. She tasted like rum and peppermint and she smelled like sin.

-

When she flipped him over and started to ride him he almost stopped forming coherent thoughts. She reached down between her to rub her own clit and all he could think of was the lines to a god damned Eagles song. _I've been searching for the daughter of the devil himself, I've been searching for an angel in white... _She tossed her long blonde hair back as she came apart on top of him and he knew he'd found both. Veronica Mars, his fucking dream girl. Literally.

-

In a flash he was back on top and barreling into her, trying to hold on longer but not really wanting to. He felt his balls tighten and he came harder than he had in his entire life. She came too. "Fuck, Veronica, I love you." Lamb heard himself mutter it into her neck before he realized the words were out of his mouth. She froze underneath him and he was waiting for the moment when she'd disappear. Dream Veronica always disappeared after he fucked her. This Veronica just pulled back and looked at him with a confused expression.

-

Shit. She was actually here. She looked at him confusedly and then kissed him lightly as she rolled him off of her. Fuck. She didn't say anything back, she just looked at him with that fucking look of hers. And then she leaned up and kissed the exact spot on his skull that would always be just a little indented thanks to a baseball bat and mostly his stubbornness. Well, shit. When she laid back down he curled around the back of her and pulled a naked Veronica Mars tightly to his body. Lamb fell asleep fast and almost happy. This time she'd be there when he woke up.

-

But no, now he was fucking alone. Again. Fucking spectacular. He got up to make himself coffee, alone, and watch the news, alone. _Maybe I should beg Inga for that dog…_he thought to himself before he saw his answering machine light was blinking. Who the fuck had called him? His breath hitched as Veronica's voice played over the speakers.

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"_Sorry Lamb, I needed to process… I can't… I don't do that… last night… I just…_" Lamb numbly thought that he had never heard Veronica Mars at a loss for words before as he continued to listen to the message. "_I'll come back though, eventually, I just… I need to, like I said, I need to Process. I'm Sorry. " _

-

Lamb ran a tired hand over his face again as he listened to the message for a third time. He shook his head, "Veronica Fucking Mars, my god damned dream girl."

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"Dream girl, huh?" She walked in his apartment door.

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He just stared at her, "What the fuck, Veronica?"

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"I processed, I came back."

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He looked at her with his mouth open, and then for reasons he wasn't really sure of and sounding way more depressed and certainly more desperate than he had ever wanted to he asked, "Why?" Was he really this fucking pitiful?

-

She looked at him and didn't say anything. What he wouldn't give to figure out just what the fuck was going on in that head of hers when she walked over and kissed him, hard and long. Of her own accord. Veronica Mars, sober, kissed him, Don Lamb. "Because I deserve better than being alone… and so do you."

-

Veronica Mars, the fucking love of his life.


End file.
